


Feel It Still

by OneofaKind33



Series: Vids Or It Didn't Happen [1]
Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: #SavetheBrave, Amir is the Mom Friend, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Jägerbombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 20:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofaKind33/pseuds/OneofaKind33
Summary: Sometimes, the Team needs to blow off a little steam. And what's better than barbecue and horseshoes? Barbecue and horseshoes with loud music and booze.Or, the Team has fun, Patton is a menace, and everybody has a hangover except Amir, aka the Mom Friend.Post 1x8Cross Posted on Fanfiction.net





	Feel It Still

**Author's Note:**

> I was possessed (again) while I wrote this but, like, also it's been building for months.  
> Everyone on this website and in this fandom is a total inspiration and prompted this for me.   
> Warning for Mature Language  
> All I need is a Season 2.

Strolling past the hanger reserved as quarters for one of the special ops team, the two privates could hear the loud music and laughter, see the shadows of people in the dull glow of a half-illuminated space. One of them rolled their eyes. 

“Know how much disciplinary action we’d get for this?” 

“What’s happens when you technically don’t exist,” shrugged the other. “Ten bucks they got their hands on tequila again.”

The first one shook their head. “No way. I saw McGuire at the gym two days after the last time. He still looked dead, and said something about Captain Dalton banning tequila and using the leftovers to start a bonfire. I did hear a rumor that Khan and McGuire picked up a bunch of Redbull from the convenience store. And my buddy in the mail centre said McGuire sometimes get packages that definitely contain bottles.” 

The other raised their eyebrows, intrigued. “Jägerbombs?” 

“Jägerbombs,” confirmed the first. They both looked back towards the dancing shadows, the loud complaints that sounded like Sergeant Khan and the laughter that was undoubted Sergeant McGuire. 

“What are the chances that Dalton’s gonna ban Jäger?” the second private asked. 

A loud laugh burst from the side entrance as a ray of light split the dark. Strains of “a rebel just for kicks” echoed through the night. Both privates froze. Captain Dalton only gave a loose wave then whistled. A dog blurred past them. Inside, they could see McGuire drunkenly twirling Khan, and when she protested and pushed away clumsily, he twirled the new guy. Dalton retreated, and the screen fell closed over the entrance again, effectively blocking their view. 

“I don’t think Dalton’s going to ban anything.” The first private shrugged, “But they’re all going to have the worst fucking hangovers.” 

* * *

“Jägerbombs?” Amir asked, eyeing the supplies McG and Jaz dropped onto the table. “What are we, a fraternity?” 

“More like a sorority,” sniped Jaz, perching on the counter. “Matching clothes, charitable activities. The amount of time Top spends on his hair.” 

Dalton chucked his empty water bottle at her head. Jaz easily and very smugly plucked it out of the air. 

“Top banned tequila and this is the second best way to get wasted with limited supplies,” answered McG, carefully lining up the two bottles of Jaeger he had stashed away with the 6-pack of Redbull he and Jaz had acquired. 

“Wait- Top banned tequila?” Amir watched as each of his teammates reacted. 

Jaz dropped her head into her hands with a quiet _fuck._

Dalton unsuccessfully tried to stifle his laughter. He didn’t try very hard. 

Preach was shaking his head disapprovingly, but the mirth in his eyes betrayed him. 

Even McG, shameless McG, looked mildly embarrassed. 

Whatever it was, it was a hell of a story. 

“It was about almost a year ago,” Preach started. Jaz groaned emphatically and dropped her head so hard against wall, the thud echoed dully— the most dramatic Amir had ever seen her. Preach raised his voice, along with an amused eyebrow. 

“And we’d had a rough mission. Now I don’t touch tequila unless it’s in a margarita and I’m on a beach in Mexico with my beautiful wife. But the kids-”

Both McGuire and Jaz protested. 

“The kids,” continued Preach, “decided they were going to drink two bottles of tequila between the three of them.” 

“It was supposed to be four,” added Dalton, “But McG forced some antibiotics down my throat on the helo back.”

“Should’ve just let his arm fall off,” muttered McG. 

“Should’ve,” agreed Jaz. 

“Add in that Vallins was a fucking lightweight,” McG’s smile was regretful. “Let’s just say that me and Jazzycat here  _died_.” 

“Elijah passed out on the couch at 2330,” said Dalton, eye crinkling as he thought about his old teammate, “they started at 2230.” 

“By 0100, McG was half-dead on the bathroom floor with his arms wrapped the toilet,” Jaz added, smirking slightly. 

“And Jaz had disappeared— couldn’t find her anywhere inside,” finished Preach. 

Amir had attempted to study the different facial expressions that had crossed each teammates’ face as they told their piece, but it was impossible. It flickered with too much; amusement, mortification, mourning for Vallins, a little bit of amazement and pride that they’d survived it.

“You lost Jaz?” Amir snapped his attention to her. 

“Oh, no. Jaz lost herself. I found her 15 minutes later outside trying to dig a hole,” Dalton couldn’t cover up his laugh this time. McG snorted and Preach’s amused smirk grew. Amir blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

Jaz flipped Dalton the bird. “I had to puke and McG was sprawled out dead in the bathroom. If I dug a hole, I wouldn’t have to clean it up in the morning. It made sense.” 

“Yeah okay, Jaz,” McG scoffed.

“Shut up, McG, you blacked out so hard you don’t remember a thing.” Jaz kicked the back of his chair hard enough that he jolted. 

Dalton stopped lounging in his chair and leaned towards Amir. “I leave Preach inside to make sure Vallins doesn’t fall off the couch and McG doesn’t drown in the toilet. I find Jaz around the corner from the door using her goddamn kabar to dig a hole.” 

“He yells that he’s found Jaz,” continues Preach, “takes the knife from her and flings it inside. I take one look outside and all I can see is Top holding her mass of hair back while Jaz empties her guts.” 

Jaz twisted a piece of said hair around her index finger aggressively, looking anywhere but up. Or towards Dalton. Amir wondered if this was another thing added to the  _Shit Dalton and Jaz Don’t Talk About_ list. 

(‘Course, Amir wasn’t aware that this was something that Jaz and Dalton  _didn’t_  talk about. That Dalton had sat on the hard-ass ground, parallel to the hole so that Jaz could lie across his legs. That while he’d held her hair, he’d also rubbed her back and listened to her tell stories about the wild parties she’d gone to back in New York during the last break with Elijah. That Jaz had fallen asleep when the need to puke had finally subsided, feeling exhausted and more than a little safe. That Dalton had carried her back inside and helped her into bed, something that only Preach knew and never said a word.   
‘Course, Amir wasn’t aware of that— Jaz and Dalton only vaguely recognized it themselves. It was beginning to drive Preach crazy.)

Dalton smiled easily. “45 minutes later I’m hauling a half-asleep Jaz inside, where Vallins had apparently woken up for Round Two before Preach locks him in the bathroom with McG.” 

“Most confused I’ve ever been in my life,” said McG, “was finding Vallins asleep in the bathtub with two bottles of water clutched to his chest.” 

Amir laughed along with the rest, barely hearing the jibes of the team towards McG. He was too busy trying to compute all of this information. 

“You know that planter on the corner outside?” Jaz asked, knocking Amir with her foot. He nodded. “Don’t touch it. I put that there a year ago, hasn’t moved since. X marks the spot.”

Amir coughed as he laughed, the sound of everyone’s laughter rippling once again through the room.

“What are the chances,” asked Amir, “that if you’d been drinking with them, Top, tequila would still be allowed?” 

“Slim to none,” Dalton’s eyed glinted and almost imperceptibly shifted to Jaz and back. “Tequila is a dangerous game.” 

“Hence,” McG gestured proudly to his setup, “Jägerbombs.” 

“This has got disaster written all over it,” Jaz grumbled, slipping down from the counter, “I’m in.” 

* * *

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Amir asked skeptically. He eyed the cups Jaz and McG were setting up on the kitchen table. It was part of the team competitions they’d set up: darts (unfair; Jaz always won), pool (unfair; Jaz almost always won), flip cup (unfair; McG cheated) and finally, an epic game of beer pong played with water in the cups but with shots (unfair; Dalton had a gift for it).

“Worry is like a river, Amir. Stop trying to dam it,” Preach said from the kitchen. He’d started on nachos; if he was drinking Jäger it would  _not_  be on an empty stomach.

“I don’t even know what that means,” Amir glanced helplessly at Dalton. 

“It’s means stop over thinking this,” he advised. Dalton clasped a hand on Amir’s shoulder, and used the other to point at Jaz and McG as they bickered. “You see those two, how they’re using every opportunity to pick at each other? Yesterday I’m pretty sure I heard Jaz threaten to kill McG and then turn his body into a murder mystery game.” 

“I was there, he was cheating at horseshoes,” confirmed Amir. 

“How the hell do you cheat at horseshoes?” asked Preach.

“Ask McG, he cheats at everything,” said Jaz, using her elbow to knock the water pitcher McG was holding. It slopped down the front of McGs shirt and he jumped back, swearing as she laughed. 

Dalton’s looked vaguely amused, gesturing in a smug, _what-I-tell-ya_ kind of way. 

“Those two get pent up easily; they’re competitive at best, antagonistic at worst. We’ll throw this little bender, listen to some loud music, get wasted, blow off some steam on dumb games, and then sleep it off for the better part of tomorrow. Then they’re good to go when we get called out.” 

Amir had an unsure feeling about this, but he’d learned better than to question his team’s methods. And they’d just gotten back from Mongolia— it was highly unlikely they’d be called out in the next two days. He had nothing to worry about. Besides, maybe it would be fun. 

* * *

“Teams are Jaz and me, and McG and Top,” Preach said pointing to the dry erase board they normally used for planning training ops. Now it was a scoreboard, separated into teams and events.

“What exactly is my job?” Amir asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Referee,” Top supplied as the others nodded. 

“Normally it’s Preach-” started McG. 

“Cuz he’s old and boring,” Jaz piped in, grinning cheekily. The older man pointed a warning finger at her. 

“Watch yourself, Ninja.” 

“Normally it’s Preach,” McG repeated himself louder than necessary, “but since you don’t drink and having a sober teammate would be cheating, you have to make sure no one else is cheating.” 

“Oh, so I’m supposed to be watching you the whole time?” asked Amir dryly. Jaz “oohed” and held her fist out to bump Amir’s. He did so gladly.

“Rude,” retorted McG, pointing at him and then Jaz. “You’re going down Jazzycat.”

* * *

 Jaz kicked McG’s ass at darts. 

She and Preach barely won at pool, until Jaz beat Dalton with an almost impossible shot. To celebrate she did the Jäger shot that McG was supposed to do. 

By the time they got to the horseshoes match they were all drunk off their asses— alive with laughter and slurred bets and carefree action— which only served to raise the stakes for the game. 

By the time they finished the game of beer pong— which Dalton may have won for him and McG, but Jaz and Preach took the tournament— the music had been turned up and everyone was laughing. McG’s cheeks were flushed as he changed the song and tried to twirl Jaz. She pushed him away and went to change the song back, insulting his music taste as she did. McG shrugged and twirled Amir instead. “Your loss, Jazzy. I’m a great dancer.” 

“You’re about as graceful as a bull in a china shop,” laughed Preach, as Amir struggled away from McG’s drunk affection.

“Just for that,” McG pointed accusingly at Preach with one hand while he poured two more shots with the other, “We drinking these, and then I challenge you to another round of horseshoes.” 

“Get ready to have your ass whooped, McGuire,” warned Preach. They downed the shots and headed for the door. “Amir, you comin’?” 

Amir glanced around. Dalton had just gotten back inside, Patton trailing behind him, and Jaz has vanished after switching the music. He smiled. “Someone has to keep McG’s wasted ass from cheating.” 

* * *

 “I want a rematch,” Dalton said as he collected all the pool balls. He didn’t look up from his ministrations, drunk enough that he had to concentrate to be deliberate.

“You want to lose twice?” Jaz rested her forearms on the edge of the table. Her smirk echoed the challenge in her voice. 

“I don’t intend to lose,” he answered, removing the triangle and lining up the cue ball. 

“Game on,” Jaz shrugged, snatching Dalton’s favourite cue from the rack with a sugary smile. 

His eyes narrowed. So they were playing dirty. 

“You break,” Dalton said, an offer tempered by a challenge. Jaz hated breaking, thought it threw off her whole game. 

Her nose twitched, and he could feel her disgust as she silently lined up with the cue ball. 

They played until only the impossible shots were left— and they’re not just hard, they’re impossible. Both Jaz and Dalton had been playing to screw the other over; what they’ve got left was a mess of balls and a game that had devolved into drunk dares of who could hit what. Dalton spent most of the time trying not to admire Jaz’s smooth movements and deliberate shots (there’s a reason Jaz usually wins at pool and it’s got a lot more to do with Dalton’s inability to keep focused on the game than her shot. She’s good but he was a sniper too once upon a time, even if she’s better). Jaz spent most of it trying not to stare at his arms (they’re just arms, dammit, she’s worked out with him a million times, sparred with him, had that arm wrapped around her shoulder when they’re undercover. This is nothing new). 

“There’s no way you can make that,” Jaz said, pulling her messy bun a little tighter. She’s winning as of now, but he stands a chance of beating her, easy.

“Show me how it’s done, then,” he gestured at the table. His blue eyes were dancing and Jaz had to forcibly remind herself that drowning in Adam Dalton’s eyes was a sure way to get them both in a large amount of trouble. 

“Gladly,” she smirked and leaned across the table. The shot is awkward but if she bounced it off the corner and hit the solid green, she’d be able to sink the striped blue without knocking the 8-ball. She narrowed her focus to just the ball and her cue; she’s just drunk enough not to notice Dalton mirroring her movements. Just as she pulled back the cue-stick, another one darted forward, taking the path she envisioned. The striped blue sunk and the 8-ball bounced harmlessly against the side. 

Jaz gaped at Dalton. “Did you just take my shot?” 

“Whoops,” he said dryly, one side of his mouth twisted into a smirk as his eyes continue to shine. 

Jaz blinked. She had a feeling this would be added to their _List_ but it seemed insignificant compared to the light in her veins and the playful dare caught in the lines of Dalton’s face. 

“Orange striped and solid blue, second farthest left pocket. No way you can do it,” she said, lips pursed because, honestly, she _was_ this competitive and if he wants to play it this way, she will. 

“Challenge accepted,” he said, already setting up the shot. As he drew back the cue, he looked up at Jaz. Her chin was tilted defiantly and when he met her stare, his smug smirk grew. He didn’t look away as he took the shot. The cue ball bounced off two edges before sending the orange hurtling into the blue. Both slid neatly into the second farthest pocket on the left. 

“Solid red, right corner pocket. Watch the 8-ball,” Jaz challenged again, not breaking their stare. 

Dalton shifted positions, only breaking eye-contact to size up the shot. The red was in a particularly bad spot, balanced on the side so close to both a corner and the 8-ball that it would be almost impossible to sink the red without the 8-ball. Almost.

“What’s the prize when I win?” he asked. The tease in it was almost gone, his voice almost too earnest. 

“You won’t,” Jaz said assuredly. It was mostly bravado; if he looked at her like that again, she wasn’t sure if she’d remember what the exact location of that line she wasn’t supposed to cross was. Which meant that she needed to change the stakes, immediately.

Dalton focused back on the shot. He wasn’t drunk anymore but he wasn’t sober and this was a game they should not have started— and he wasn’t talking about pool. 

He was halfway through his shot when motion caught his eye. His attention shifted and suddenly all he could see is a cascade of long, dark hair rippling as Jaz deliberately pulled it free from the elastic. 

Dalton forgot how to breathe.

The 8-ball slid neatly into the corner pocket, followed by the red. Dalton faltered as he realized what had just happened. What she’d just done.

“I win,” Jaz said primly, one hand ruffling through her hair. 

“By default,” Dalton countered. He struggled to tear his attention away from her. He’d forgotten how long her hair was when it wasn’t tied back, and he had to tamp down the wonder at what it would feel like slipping through his fingers.

“Still a win,” she said as she set her cue back on the rack. Her hair was floating behind her as she followed the sound of the other guys shouts outside. 

“Maybe next time, Top,” she smiled, head titled over her shoulder as she lifted the netting over the doorway. The firelight glinted off her smile and made her hair glow like embers and Dalton hoped she was too tipsy to notice that he was just standing there, shell-shocked. 

Jaz slipped into the darkness, hoping Dalton didn’t notice the way her eyes had followed him through their little game, too appreciative to really have been clinical competitiveness. 

For once, their moment didn’t shatter in a remembrance of rules or the sudden entry of a teammate. This time it lingered, and neither of them knew if that was a good thing or not. 

“She’s a damn menace,” Adam muttered to Patton, grabbing the bottle of Jäger and the plastic shot glasses to take outside. 

* * *

“Zeke? Honey, why are you still up, it’s the middle of the night there?” Preach’s wife’s voice echoed over the sat-phone.

“Just wanted to say I love you.” Preach leaned against the outside of the quonset. The air was brisk but the fire was still throwing enough heat that it was just nice. His head was starting to swim and he knew that what he needed was to head back inside, down a bottle of water, and sleep in order to get ahead of this hangover.

“That’s nice, honey, but I’m at work,” she said laughing. She didn’t need the slightly slurred speech to know that her husband was drunk halfway across the world. “What did you all get into this time? I thought Adam banned tequila?”

“McG thinks he’s a bootlegger. Smuggled in Jägermeister. I’m too old for Jägermeister, babe,” Preach scrubbed at his face. Yep, he definitely needed to go to bed.

“Then I suppose you’re too old to be calling me “babe,” Ezekiel Carter,” she said, her amusement coming in loud and clear through the phone. Preach could picture her smile. 

“I love you so much. I just-do,” he murmured. 

“So you said,” she laughed again. “Anything else?”

“I think I’m gonna have to keep saying it until you say it back. I love you.” Preach shifted the phone from his ear to put it on speaker. Someone was making a racket inside but he couldn’t tell who. 

“If you’re this drunk, I don’t think I want to see what the rest of your team is like,” she answered instead. 

“Trust me, you really don’t.” 

Preach startled, swearing viciously as he gripped the sat-phone too tightly. 

“One of these days I’m going to put a damn bell on Jaz and then on you,” he threatened Amir. The smaller man stood by his feet, smirking a little. 

“Is that Amir?” Preach’s wife asked, after her laughter had settled. 

“It is,” Amir said, “I’m sorry about this. Dalton warned me that Preach likes to call you when he’s drunk but I had to break up and argument between Jaz and McG— if you think Preach is drunk, you should see them.”

“Honestly, this is the most interesting lunch hour I’ve had in weeks,” she said, “and I always want to talk to my husband, even when he’s rambling like a lunatic.” 

“Yeah, so that damn Adam can keep his opinions to himself,” Preach muttered.

Amir snorted. “Of course, Preach.” 

“Go to bed, Zeke,” she laughed again, “We’ll talk in your morning. Take care of my husband, Amir.” 

“I will,” Amir promised. 

“Love you, honey,” Preach said a little too loudly. He didn’t want this phone call to end. Partly because he missed her and partly because he didn’t want to stand up to go inside.

“I love you too, Zeke.” 

The line clicked off, and the sat-phone turned to static. Amir gently took it from Preach and turned it off. 

Preach looked up at Amir. “I fucking love my wife.” 

“I know,” Amir smiled. “Let’s get you inside.” 

* * *

Preach had slunk off to bed with a bottle of water a half hour before McG passed out on top of the pool table. He was shirtless, pant-less, and had half a dozen red solo cups strewn around him. 

Dalton was outside, probably staring into the dying fire. Amir had hidden the firewood to keep him from trying to rebuild it. 

Jaz was standing precariously on a chair, reaching up to a top cupboard for a snack. 

“Can you just let me get whatever it is you want?” Amir pleaded. Jaz had gone drink for drink with McG for most of the night and she was swaying dangerously as she stood on the chair, one hand clinging to the cupboard door and the other digging through the shelf. While Amir was impressed at her alcohol tolerance, he was currently doubtful of her balance. 

Jaz shut the cupboard with a snap and hopped down from the chair. She titled as she landed, but righted herself. Her hands were empty. 

“I’m going to bed,” she announced, striding towards her room. It was the size of a closet and little more than a thin barrier but it was part of protocol for having a female member of the team. 

Amir watched her go, a little confused, but not surprised. Drunk Jaz was as much of a hurricane as Sober Jaz. She was just lacked the focus of Sober Jaz. 

Jaz disappeared into her room. Amir contemplated following her with a bottle of water and a bucket (he’d already placed one by McG) but was saved from it when she re-emerged with her duvet wrapped around her like a cocoon. She disappeared into the bunk room and emerged with several more blankets and assorted pillows. 

Amir watched, not quite sure what the fuck was happening.           

Jaz dumped her stolen prizes in the middle of the living room, and set about making a bed. When it was to her liking, she stood up and admired her work, nodding approvingly. She grinned at Amir and the brightness was so unrestrained that it left Amir speechless. 

She was  _so_  drunk. 

Jaz frowned and muttered to herself. She dug around in her pile before removing a pillow. She disappeared back into the bunks and emerged with a sheet. 

“Jaz?” Amir wasn’t sure what he was going to ask. 

“McG’s a fucking dumbass,” was all she said and she marched towards the pool table and slid the pillow under McG’s head and threw the sheet over him. 

Amir started laughing and couldn’t stop. “You are very right.” 

“You're not so bad,” she said, dropping into her nest in the middle of the room. "G'night, Amir."

“Night, Jaz,” Amir sighed. One more to go and then he could get some sleep. 

* * *

“You’re such a good boy,” Dalton murmured as he rubbed his hand against Patton’s head. The dog yawned in his face. 

“You’re rude, but you’re still a good boy.” 

Dalton was lying half reclined in the camp chair, Patton stretched across him as best he could. The fire was basically gone and it was a cool night but Dalton didn’t want to go inside yet. Besides, he basically had a heater lying across him.

“You’re the best boy in the goddamn world.” 

“Top?” Amir couldn’t help it any longer. He’d been trying so hard not to laugh but he was exhausted and, after corralling this herd of cats, he really just wanted to go to bed. It had been well worth the night of free entertainment, though. “You coming inside?”

There was a slight shuffle and some whispered commands before Dalton answered.

“Patton’s laying on me and my ribs are sore. And he doesn’t listen worth a damn.” 

Amir knew Dalton still had to be drunk if he was admitting he was hurt. Honestly, Mongolia felt light years away. Amir couldn’t believe it had barely been a day.

“I got him,” Amir walked over and prodded the dog until he reluctantly jumped down from his favourite person. 

Dalton stood, waving off Amir’s help. Amir followed him and watched as Dalton dropped onto the couch, wrapped himself in the blanket Amir had dug out of a closet (he’d grabbed one for himself too. Fucking Jaz). Dalton whistled softly and Patton trotted over and jumped back onto him. 

“Get some sleep, Amir,” he said, yawning. “Told you everything would be fine.” 

“Yeah, you did.” Amir shook his head. Dalton didn’t answer. 

Amir trudged towards his bunk, taking the time to plug his phone in and set a password. Normally he didn’t bother but now— now he had so much blackmail in his possession. The least of which an absurd minute-and-a-half long video of Dalton stroking their adopted stray and telling him he was good-fucking-boy in baby-talk and that he was smuggling him home when deployment ended. 

Something like that was so precious, Amir might send it to Patricia, just for safe keeping. With this team, passwords didn’t guarantee a whole lot. 

* * *

Jaz woke up to a wet nose pressing against her forehead. 

“Fucking hell!” she swore, jolting back violently and then groaning when her head did not agree with the specific movement. A wave of nausea rose but she managed to swallow it.

Patton yawned and wagged his tail, his whole body shimmying with the force.

She blinked, wondering how the dog had gotten into her room. She blinked again as she realized she was  _not_  in her room. This was her pillow and her blanket but this was definitely the living room. 

“Huh.” 

“You decided that was where you wanted to sleep.” 

Jaz looked up to see Amir at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. 

“Huh” she said again. Her brain was more than a little foggy.

“You also stole everyone else’s blankets,” Amir added, turning a page of the newspaper. 

Jaz looked down at the scattering of comforters. Indeed, she had. And it was pretty fucking comfortable. Why had she never thought of this before?

She looked back at Patton. The dog was staring at her with expectant eyes. “ _You_  are a fucking menace.” 

The dog ignored her, choosing instead to jump on top of a sleeping Dalton. Dalton jolted awake similarly to Jaz, sitting up and nearly pushing Patton off the couch.

“What the hell?” he groaned, his eyes scrunching shut. 

Jaz curled her knees into her chest and cupped her head in her hands. “Your dog is a fucking menace.”

“Good morning to you to,” mumbled Dalton, a hand scrubbing at his eyes while the other scratched Patton’s head.

Amir took pity on them all, snapping the newspaper shut and strolling away from the table. “Favorite hangover foods?”

Jaz and Dalton answered at the same time. 

“Pancakes.”

“Hashbrowns.”

They stared at each other with intermingled disbelief and disgust. 

“Careful, Jaz. You might actually have to admit you’re wrong,” Dalton said, “shredded hashbrowns and diner coffee are the only cures for a hangover.”

“Careful, Top, your Pennsylvania is showing.” Jaz scoffed. Dalton glared at her without any real fire.

Jaz fixed Amir with large, pleading doe-eyes that caused him a brief second of cognitive dissonance. “Pancakes are the ultimate hangover food.” 

It made more sense when he realized she was trying to play him. It worked.

“Well, now you’re both wrong,” Preach walked in, a hand pressed against his temples. “Cold pizza you ordered the night before and forgot to eat— now that’s hangover food.” Preach squinted in the brightness of the living quarters. “Where did McG put the damn Advil?” 

“That’s oddly specific. And we don’t have pizza,” Amir handed him the tiny bottle. “But I’ll see what I can do about pancakes  _and_  hashbrowns.” 

Jaz and Dalton groaned, that latter dropping back down into the couch and the former rolling out of her nest and rising slowly.

“Give me that,” she beckoned for the Advil from Preach. “I’ll make coffee. Amir’s sucks.” 

As she walked into the kitchen, she prodded McG’s shoulder roughly. He yowled like he’d been shot and scattered red solo cups. 

“Morning,” she chirped smugly.

McG threw an arm over his eyes. “Fuck you, Jazzycat. You’re disinvited to see my mom.” 

“I’d be offended if I had more than a hazy recollection of that conversation.” She shrugged and filled up the pot with water. 

“What’s your ultimate hangover food, McG?” Amir asked, digging through the drawer for the paring knife. McG flinched at the clash of metal on metal. 

“Easy. Three Junior McChickens from McDonalds.”

Both Dalton and Jaz pointed at him in agreement. 

“True,” Jaz conceded. Her eyes seemed to light up as she brandished the coffee pot. “Amir-”

“I’m not driving halfway across Adana to the nearest McDonalds, Jaz.”

“Rude,” she grumbled, dumping in the coffee grounds aggressively. 

McG melted down from the pool table, hand still over his eyes. “Why the fuck don’t we have doors? That shit doesn’t block out the sun.” 

“The fuck are your pants, McG?” Dalton asked. Jaz snorted and Preach laughed. Amir smirked— he knew exactly where the pants were.

McG looked down in confusion, naked except for tattoos and a pair of boxer briefs. “Excellent question.” He stumbled towards the sleeping quarters, hopefully for clothes.

“He’s in for a shock when he goes outside,” Amir said, peeling the potatoes. Either no one heard him or they were all too content with their suffering to respond. 

Amir moved onto shredding the potatoes. Preach had moved behind him to start gathering the ingredient for pancake batter. His movements were sluggish. 

“Your wife call you yet?” Amir asked him. Preach grimaced. 

“I missed the call. I’m almost glad— she’s never going to stop mocking me.” 

“Damn. I missed Preach’s drunk dial?” Jaz muttered. She was leaning with her elbows against the counter, head bowed like she was either going to puke or pray. 

“My question is how you’re still standing?” Amir said to her. 

“Jaz’s alcohol tolerance is a thing of myth,” Preach supplied for her, knocking her shoulder gently.

“Like Preach’s drunk dials,” she retorted without lifting her head. 

Amir set the oven before moving onto the next step for breakfast. 

McG stumbled back into the room in only sweatpants and sunglasses. 

“We really are a frat,” Amir said, his expression pained. 

“Sorority,” Jaz corrected, “even if Top’s hair looks like something died in it.” 

Dalton said something that sounded like“Do you want to run drills, Jaz?” but it was muffled by blankets. 

Jaz rolled her eyes and went back to staring down the coffeemaker, periodically stealing the strawberries Amir was cutting for the pancakes.

McG started searching for his lost clothing, swearing when it wasn’t inside and he realized he had to brave the sun. The string of curse-words trailed after him as he ventured outside. 

“Anything else from last night we should be aware of?” Dalton asked, finally dragging himself up off the couch. 

A stream of images flooded Amir’s mind; McG streaking from their quonset to the nearest team’s and back; Preach’s victory dance when he smashed McG at the game of horseshoes that led to McG streaking; an epic argument between Jaz and McG that had started over grilled cheese and ended with Jaz declaring that McG's mom loved her more; a moment between Dalton and Jaz that would probably go unacknowledged for the rest of their lives. 

“I have video evidence that Jaz can do a shot upside down and McG  _cannot_  do a shot upside down,” Amir smiled innocently. The whole team seemed to freeze. 

“What else do you have video evidence of?” Preach asked slowly. 

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Amir shrugged. 

McG took that exact moment to stumble in. “Yo, Amir. Can you tell me why my shirt is our new flag and I’m pretty sure my pants are hanging from Team 3’s roof?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, from probably the drinking games part on, this descended into chaos. And the Team drunk is just the Team normal but a little rowdier and little freer. Jaz and Dalton are probably the hardest to figure out. Everyone seems a little out of character but it happens with drunk people so... 
> 
> Poor Amir though. I personally am the Mom Friend, so I can commiserate. Responsibility for drunk friends is a burden and a gift when you’re the only one who remembers anything. 
> 
> Like I said in my last fic (One Nice Thing, check it out please!), my personal head cannon for a nickname for Jaz from McG is Jazzycat. Because it really just works and its something he would do.
> 
> I’ve got a friend who likes to strip and streak when he drinks tequila. I feel like McG fits into that boat. 
> 
> I seem to love writing phone calls between Preach and his wife. I could not tell you why. 
> 
> Just a piece of fun and fluff (and Jalton!) for my faves who all need a day off and who all need some happiness. I love thinking about the Team in their daily life between missions. Those are some of my favourite parts of the episodes.  
> I had to use the "whoops" bit. The last two episodes were masterpieces. The entire fight scene at the end was so well done, and Dalton at the end- I have no words.
> 
> The scene with Patton waking Jaz up is based off my summer experiences with my best friend's labs waking me up almost every morning for 5 weeks. A mini-heart attack is the best way to start the day.
> 
> Feel It Still is the title of the Portugal. The Man song that I used in the first part. They used it in Episode 7 and its still what I think of when I hear that song (this show has an incredible use of music that I appreciate).  
> It also just worked really well as a title. It could be talking about the memory of Elijah (because, of course, I included him in this; its hard not to. So much of the teams behaviuor stems from the loss of him) or the feelings between Jaz and Adam (that scene was a riot to write but when I got it, the entire thing just flowed) and especially they are all still feeling their hangovers the next day.


End file.
